


Slow Burn

by izzyb



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, Het, Holiday Exchange 2009
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyb/pseuds/izzyb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy watches her date other men and stays professional...for now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Written for esme_green for the holiday fic exchange at mccoy_chapel.

She had a date tonight. He always knew this when part of her hair was pulled back loosely from her face instead of it all in her usual no-nonsense ponytail. A few of her curls had escaped this time and were curling enticingly around her face as she leaned over the shiny console to check her lipstick. His fingers twitched as he fought the urge to walk over to her and tuck those stray strands behind her ear.

Instead, he walked that way and addressed her with his usual professional courtesy.

"You must be off duty if you're primping in my sickbay."

She didn't look fazed, only a little startled by his tone as she straightened from her bent position. "I am, actually. The release for Ensign Jacobs is complete and ready for you to sign. The stock room has been restocked to overflowing with the flu vaccine hyposprays we ran out of today—so no yelling at me tomorrow to order more. Oh, and Lieutenant Berger's chart is updated to now include his allergy to seafood." She shook her head. "Can't believe we didn't catch that until today."

He frowned, always annoyed when someone messed up on background paperwork and it caused havoc, this time only one angry and swelled up Lieutenant with an affinity for the word "fuck" and all its variants when his hands swelled up to massive proportions due to allergic reactions. Chapel's quick thinking with a hypospray had stopped the swelling from reaching anywhere else on his body, though, so the cursing was kept to a minimum and she had earned an admirer and apparently a date. It had to be Berger.

"Berger, huh?" They really did not speak of their personal lives—they did not have that type of easy friendship—but McCoy couldn't help himself.

She raised her eyes to his. "Yes, Doctor. I know it's strange that I have a date, but there's no need to sound so surprised. I do have a life outside of sickbay." She grimaced slightly as she double-checked her notes on her PADD. "Sometimes."

"I would never doubt your word, Chapel." He studied his hand as he finished the rest under his breath. "You've never caused me reason to anyway."

"See you tomorrow?" She didn't wait for an answer as she exited sickbay, loose blonde curls swinging down her back.

He didn't bother to answer, but watched her walk away and turned swiftly on his heel and headed to his office when she was gone.

 

***

If he worked a little harder sparring with Jim that night, then maybe he just had a little excess energy to burn.

"God, Bones. Who's got your panties in a twist?" The voice came to him from the air, somewhere far above McCoy's spinning head—he had gone down hard with that last hit with the padded sparring staffs. "I mean, it took me over five minutes to take you down today—a personal record, mind you."

"Fuck off, Jim," he grumbled, but took the hand offered him and stood up with a groan. "Ready to go again?"

"Not sure that's a good idea. You look a little beat up." Jim touched a finger to his own bruised face. "You got some good ones in today, though. I'll be feeling it tomorrow. Grab a drink with me?"

"Yeah, in a bit. I need to do some weights first."

Jim's eyebrows shot up. "If I didn't know any better, I would think that this was about a girl."

"Huh—what?" He was already curling like a pro, learned from long hours working off drinking binges with a brutal exercise regimen usually led by his evilly in-shape best friend at the academy exercise facility.

"Remember our second year, Tamara Davies with the long brown hair and large breasts?"

McCoy paused in his movements, glaring at him. "I thought we agreed to never mention her again."

"Hear me out. Yes, Tamara turned into a crazy stalker, but you were so into her for a while. I think I remember kicking your ass in hand-to-hand a couple of times in the gym while you mooned over the fact that she didn't like you, she was all for that pretentious dickwad. Michael, I think his name was." His expression turned to one of pride. "And you got your girl, but only after many many hours working off sexual tension sparring with me." He wriggled his eyebrows. "And not in a fun, friends-with-benefits way, either."

"You, captain, are an oversexed bastard who needs to stop rehashing ancient history." He paused. "And I do not have sexual tension, dammit!"

"Says the one bleeding from a cut on his cheek and asking for more. This reeks of _despair_ and Tamara Davies. What is it this time? Married woman? Not interested in men? You always seem to pick the emotionally unavailable ones."

He wanted to tell him to fuck off, to punch him in the eye that was not already bruised, but it was too hard when he was grinning at him.

"Just drop it, Jim," he said wearily. Jim's smile slipped, but he backed off without a word.

 

***

Her hair was down again.

It started with her joking around with one of the science officers newly commissioned and ready to start his brand-spanking new life in sickbay. The naiveté and bright eyes were a sight to behold, but Chapel would set him straight, gently. Much gentler than he ever could. The first and only time he had tried to initiate one of the nurses the way he had initiated Chapel, she had left in tears, he had stormed off to his office, and Chapel had given him the evil eye for a week.

She had been different from the first day on the Enterprise, tougher, able to withstand his darkest moods and let it roll off her back like he wasn't being unreasonable, wasn't over-the-top in his demands for perfection. Because she required perfection too, only was able to communicate that better to the general population.

Yes, it was a much better idea to let her handle the newbies.

She managed him well too, directing him to the correct hyposprays and showing him how to fill out charts the way their CMO demanded with more sugar than he would have thought necessary, especially given the almost idolizing way the young brunette was staring at her. Damn.

"What do you think of Samuels?" she asked him the next day as she organized the PADDs on her desk into "to do" and "completed" piles and he leaned against the wall, watching.

"The new guy? He seems fine, just a little excited about everything."

She gave him a look he couldn't decipher completely—but he could read slight disbelief. "Did you pay any attention to his conversation with the poor ensign from engineering? He walked in here with the common cold and very nearly walked out thinking he was going to die tomorrow. It took both Doctor M'Benga and I thirty minutes to calm him down enough that he understood all he needed was rest and fluids, not to call his mother for a final farewell and get rip-roaring drunk."

He sighed. "I should talk to him, then?"

"No, I think we curbed his enthusiasm." Her voice took on that cynical, yet knowing tone that drove him up the wall most days. Most days he would tell her that too, but he was trying to keep himself from snapping too much lately lest he say too much.

He tried to keep it in. He really did, but he couldn't stop the words from spilling out. He blamed Jim and the feelings he brought up with his big mouth and Tamara Davies. "You seeing him tonight?"

"What?"

"Samuels."

She blushed a little, looking down at her charts and avoiding his eyes. "I'm being nice, McCoy. He asked me to have a drink with him after shift and looked like his heart was going to break if I said no." She sounded defensive and he saw her fingers tighten almost imperceptivity around the PADD in her hand.

"I—I've got to check on Reynolds." He walked out, as he always did, but did not stop at the ensign's bed. Instead, he headed straight to his office and the bottle of bourbon he had hidden from Jim in his bottom desk drawer.

Jim would hate the fact that he was drinking in his office alone, but he was off duty as of—he checked the chronometer in the corner of the room—twenty minutes ago and he was damned if he could explain himself right now to someone who would try to talk him into action.

He poured two fingers of the amber liquid into a glass and held it up. "Here's to high standards and moral ground. May it serve my loneliness well." It went down smooth, much smoother than the bitterness he tasted as he poured another.

 

***

A few weeks went by and McCoy relaxed his guard, though his temper started to fray with the introduction of those damned holiday decorations in his sickbay. He was glaring at them when Christine noticed.

"I didn't figure you for a scrooge." The overeager medical staff rushed like bounding puppies to hang fabricated holly on the wall and spread Christmas cheer through their bright smiles while McCoy and Chapel kept doing what they always did when December rolled around—treating those crewmembers who seemed to lose brain cells the closer they got to the new year.

He finished his scan of the idiotic science tech who had decided that early this morning would be a perfect time to experiment with poisonous plants while under the influence of cold medicine. The easiest way to treat poison was through an antidote hypospray, but the damned fool had chugged more of the liquid drug while under the influence of the dangerous plants and McCoy sighed as he realized he could have to resort to a good old-fashioned stomach pumping. He had to perform one at least once every year, especially at the academy. Then it was usually alcohol poisoning, which could creep up on a person faster than you would think.

"I didn't figure you for the sentimental type," he said ten minutes later after they had removed the tube and drawn the curtain back around the groaning science officer. But he did. He had seen her cry after handing a healthy squalling baby to her mother at one of the few live births they'd had in their mission, tears streaming down her face unashamedly while she grinned like an idiot. He wondered if that was the point he had fallen for her, her hair streaming around her face like a halo and blood and fluids staining her once-pristine blues.

She peeled off her gloves and ran her hand under the sanitizer, smile quirking. "I have been known to shed a few tears over a good bottle of wine at Christmas. It brings out all the good and bad in people, you know?"

"How so?"

"You either embrace the feelings of joy and peace we are supposed to feel, or you sit down during the rush of parties and mistletoe and realize that your family—those you love—are millions of miles away. So you cry. Or drink. That's where the wine comes in."

He titled his head down, organizing the hyposprays on the table that didn't need organizing. "What if the drinking doesn't help?"

A hand touched his and the warmth went straight to his head. "We are all family here, McCoy. It's both a family of convenience and necessity—to keep us going. We can cope…together."

He cleared his throat. "Christine—"

"Yes?"

"I wanted to know—" The console sounded under his hand and he cursed, then answered. "McCoy here."

"This is Scott. You're about to have an influx of some singed officers—there was a wee bit of an accident on deck three. Sorry about that."

"Got it," he ground out.

"Scott out."

He turned to finish his sentence, but she was rushing to clear the beds, stock the hyposprays, prep the dermal regenerators, doing her job—just as he should be doing, dammit.

_Enough_.

 

***

She had said they were family, but there was no way he could think of her as a sister when she danced like that.

McCoy had been asked, no bribed, to be at this damned party, but he was determined not to enjoy himself. He stood in the corner of the rec room, eyeing the festivities with suspicion and wondering just what everyone thought was so great about Christmas. Every holiday he had celebrated since he was eighteen had ended badly—usually with a knock-down fight after everyone drank liberally. Words were weapons in the McCoy household—used to stab into insecurities and dig deep. Even after joining Starfleet, he had always spent the holidays getting shit-faced with Jim because he had never experienced the holly and ivy and mistletoe-type holiday either.

Besides, Jim usually wanted to forget this time of year as much as McCoy. More so, even. So he was here, doing a poor job of pretending to like it, but attempting to do so for his friend's sake.

His pretense lasted until Rand dragged Chapel onto the dance floor for a rousing rendition of some old song with a pounding beat that the women seemed to know well. Suddenly, his focus was on the blonde in the black dress, shimmying for all she was worth, throwing her head back and laughing, taking Janice's hand in hers and twirling her around in a sea of blue fabric.

And goddammit, her hair was down, shining curls resting on her creamy barely-covered shoulders.

He couldn't help but stare until he realized he was doing so and quickly poured some punch (spiked with a heavy hand by Chekov) into one of the bright green party glasses to cover his reaction. He looked around, but everyone was watching the dance floor and no one was paying attention to the CMO with an inconvenient crush for his head nurse.

Though he wanted to punch every male he saw staring at her. At the thought of which hypospray would take down the kid leering at Christine from the corner the fastest, he knew he was done.

He walked over to where Jim arguing with Spock and Uhura about some pointless party game involving fuzzy hats that Jim thought they all needed to play. Uhura was giving him her best "you've got to be kidding me" look (she had it perfected, but rarely used it on anyone but her captain) and Spock's face almost held expression. They were all enjoying themselves far too much and McCoy envied their ease.

Jim drew a PADD out of his pocket when McCoy started giving excuses to leave and gestured towards the dance floor, where the girls had been joined by some young officers in shirt and tie attempting a complicated dance move and failing, trying to make them laugh. Christine was watching them make fools of themselves with a serene expression on her face and Janice had a hand over her mouth and was laughing helplessly. "Rand handed me the updated medical files with your signature on them before the party even started. Wanna try again?"

"Dammit, Jim. I am not a party person—you know that."

"Oh, I know it. But you agreed to this one, surprisingly enough. Why the sudden change of mind?"

He tried not to do it, but he failed miserably. His eyes flicked back to the dance floor just as Christine started heading towards the drink table.

"Chapel? It's Chapel, isn't it? Fuck, Bones. I knew it was all about a girl."

He didn't like the calculating look that appeared in Jim's eyes or the arm that reached out sympathetically to touch his shoulder.

"Oh, fuck no. Don't. Not now." He shrugged off the hand as Chapel caught his eye and began to walk their way. "Jim—I have to go."

He let him, eyeing him as suspiciously as McCoy had eyed the green and red decorations.

 

***

He was a good two stiff drinks in when his door chimed.

"Go away, Jim" he called. He rubbed a hand over his face tiredly and sighed, knowing that ignoring it would just force Jim to break in—he had done it before—he still had this _thing_ with not letting him drink alone. The door chimed again and he lumbered to his feet, groaning at the sharp pain in his lower back from too-long on shift plus the stress of a holiday party.

"What do you—oh."

It wasn't Jim at the door. It was Chapel—still wearing that black dress, but now with a huge red bow attached to her ponytail and a bright smile on her face, though it was faltering a bit under his stare. She looked like a present and he wanted to unwrap her with his teeth.

"Hi," she said after a second. "I just—can I come in?"

"Why?" He leaned against the opening, suddenly suspicious and cursing Jim, the obvious tattletale.

"Oh, fuck it. Just let me in, okay?"

He moved aside and watched her walk inside, wishing it was a little cleaner now that she was in his quarters.

"So anyway," she started, fiddling with the bow in her hair, hand trembling slightly.

"Your hair is up."

"I saw you looking—"

They both paused as they spoke at the same time. "You first," he said generously.

She put a hand up to the ribbon again. "What does my hair—? It doesn't matter. I saw you looking, staring even."

He took a step towards her unconsciously, needing to be closer, not denying her accusation. "And what does that mean, Nurse?"

"This," she said and she walked the three steps she needed to lean up and kiss him. Surprise left him immobile and he stood there unresponsive for a few seconds before he realized that yes, this is happening, and he took over, framing her face in his hands and taking her in deeper without questioning it. Her arms wound around his neck as she stood up on her tiptoes those couple inches to make them almost the same height.

She tasted of that fruity punch from the party and she moaned a protest when he broke his lips from hers and gently took her arms from his neck.

"This was brought on by me _looking_ at you? Everyone was looking. You aren't drunk, are you?"

Her step back from him and a balled-up fist warned him that she was about to lose her temper. "No, I am not _drunk_, McCoy. Maybe a little confused. Why now?"

"I've watched you for a while—but you never noticed before. All those men—" He waved his hand in what could be an insulting gesture.

"All those men? A few dates with men who had the balls to _ask_ me on one?"

"Besides, Starfleet regulation states—"

"Fuck Starfleet. Have you met my friend Nyota?"

"That's completely different. Spock is not her boss."

"McCoy, he's second in command. He is completely her boss. They just don't go flaunting their relationship around the ship. Any more excuses?"

She had hear head cocked to her side and her feet slightly apart—she looked ready to fight for what she wanted and he could feel his control wavering. He wanted to throw her down on the bed to see if those curves were as soft as they looked. "If we're going to do this, you might lower your hand. As much as I want you, I want you willing." He smiled then at the fierce expression she rarely turned on him.

"You started it," she said, but her fist fell to her side. "You said—you want me?"

He appraised her for a minute, taking in her flushed face—knowing that they both overheated when arguing and neither liked to give in. He hadn't noticed before now how an argument could be foreplay, but knew wanted her now more than ever.

"Take your hair down, Christine. I need to see it."

"Is this some sort of fetish with you? This is second time you've mentioned my hair tonight."

He hummed in response and sat down on the bed to watch as she leisurely drew the red bow out of her hair and let it fall to her shoulders, shaking her head a little as she did so and smiling like he had never seen her do so before. While he was distracted, she bent over at the waist in front of him to take off her shoes, smoothing her hands down her legs and unhooking them ever so slowly. God, she must do yoga when not tormenting him with her presence in sickbay because she contorted herself so very well.

"C'mere," he drawled when she straightened up.

She padded over to him in her now-bare feet and he dragged her down to sprawl in his lap, taking advantage of the position to thread his hands through her hair and hold her still for his mouth. She squirmed against him and they both groaned. He let his death grip on her hair go only to pull his shirt over his head and kiss her again.

"You should work on your skills, McCoy," she said as she pinned him to the bed by his wrists before leaning back to drag the straps of her dress down so that the fabric pooled around her waist and her breasts covered by only a skimpy red satin bra that she rubbed against his chest.

He reached up to unhook her bra and kiss the flesh that the action revealed. "How's that?" he asked, after she arched in his arms.

"We could have done this weeks ago if you had put all those growls you sent me into action."

"I'll show you action," he muttered and he flipped them in a less-than-smooth movement that made her burst out laughing even as she wriggled out of her dress under him. The laughter turned to a gasp as he drew down the matching red panties, licking the flesh as he went. Oh yes, a present, smooth and hot and ready for his tongue. He licked her open and held her squirming hips firmly in his hands, swirling around her clit leisurely and gently which contrasted with the deep fingerprints that were sure to be bruises on her skin in the morning.

Not that he would be unmarked, what with her fingernails leaving red marks on his shoulders as she moaned his name over and over. _Leonard, Leonard, Leonard._

She had never called him by his first name before and he liked the sound of it.

He stopped just before she went over and she protested, sitting up and leaning back on her elbows, glaring as he leaned back away from her. "What the hell was that?"

"I thought I would growl at you some more."

"Fuck that. Come here." She crooked her finger at him.

"Well, since you asked so nicely." Her touch changed when he was inside her, turning from aggressive to tender, smoothing the lines from his forehead as he began to move. He kept one hand tangled in her hair and the other moving down her body, mapping it, learning which spots made him arch towards him and which ones made her eyes cross. For once, they were quiet, focusing on hearing each other's breaths echo in the quiet room.

One more sharp tug on her hair and a twist of his hips and she shuddered around him in release and he watched as her eyes cross again, this time in a good way.

"My turn."

He flipped them over while she was still malleable, content to have her move on him with helpful hands on her hips, rocking her slowly, prolonging the inevitable. He might have growled at her again near the end, breaking the silence, but she didn't seem to mind.

 

***

He walked into the bathroom the next morning just as she was leaving, dressed for work, and frowned. "No. Leave it up."

"What? You said you loved it down." She winked at him. "It makes you hot."

He turned her around to face the mirror, pulling her hair up with one hand to kiss the back of her neck while holding her securely in front of him with the other. "You're right. It fucking turns me on. But now I don't want anyone else to see you, Chris. It's too distracting and I would hate to have to hypospray someone."

"Why, Doctor McCoy, how in the world did you control yourself these past few weeks?" She fluttered her eyelashes and he had to grin.

"Try months. And I have no idea, Nurse Chapel. Now your shift starts in ten minutes so off with you. I have to shower." She slapped him on the ass before she left and he leaned his head against the shower door for a long while before getting in.


End file.
